Introspectives
by RunAwayFromDangerMan
Summary: A series of small introspective pieces on various XMen characters.  Chapter 1: Lorna Dane aka Polaris.


Sometimes I just watch him. Especially late at night, when I can't sleep. There's no really deep psychological reason, sometimes I just can't sleep. And when I can't, I watch him. I love how he looks when he's asleep. Hair tossed about, face free of the worries and concerns that usually mar his handsome features during the day. Just like his brother. Always having to shoulder everything; having to be responsible for everyone and everything happening. Always taking every lose personally. 

My hand snakes out to lightly brush away his bangs for a moment, clearing away more of his face. His hair always gets me. When I was young, I never figured I'd end up falling for a blonde. Most especially not for a California stereotype given wonderful flesh. Blonde haired, blue eyed surfer kid. Surfer cowboy, really. Not that I'll ever call him that again. I called him that once. A few hours later, I got an email of a horse on a surf board riding a wave. I've still got that image on the desktop in my office.

And that's my Alex. Contradictions galore. The surfing cowboy. Honor and duty, combined with an intense desire to say 'fuck it' to everything and vanish with me to a cabin in the desert again. God, some of the best months of my life. There was just…no one. Middle of the damned desert, just him and me. Days spent working like demons. Nights spent screwing like demons.

I can still remember the glint he'd get in his eyes. Back when his laughter reached all the way from the hair on his head to the toes on his feet. He had that damn glint from the first day I met the bastard. It's still there. Sometimes. Not nearly often enough. That tears me up the most. He's becoming more like Scott every day he's leading this damned team.

And isn't that what I'm really afraid of? I hate being a superhero. Fucking hate it with every bone in my body. I never wanted to be a superhero. Never even considered it. Hell, until Mesmero decided I'd make a great daughter of Magneto and stuck me in that chamber I didn't even know I had powers. Although, you'd think that with the green hair I'd have figured something out before then. But, superhero? Hell no. It had just never crossed my mind, back then.

Now? Now I hate it. I've lost so much to being a mutant and a superhero. I've been manipulated on a horrible scale, mentally raped numerous times, used, abused and hunted. So why do I stay? Blonde haired, blue eyed surfer cowboy.

Oh Alex. I hate you so much, baby. I'm so crazy about you it's not funny, but if it wasn't for you, I wouldn't be in half the mess I'm in. It's all about passion. Horribly over-rated thing. For one thing, it absolutely kills common sense. After all, common sense would tell me that after the fiasco with the Shadow King on Muir, when Val approached me about joining X-Factor, I should have told her to go jump in the conveniently near-by ocean. Damn near did. Then she mentioned one name, and my thoughts went flat. I'll always hate Val for that, on some level. No matter what kind of tentative friendship we may be striking up. All she said was two damned sentences, and she got me.

"Of course, we'll need more people, so we were thinking of asking a couple others? Maybe Alex would be interested.?" Cold hearted bitch.

It had been years since I'd seen him, actually seen him with my own eyes and mind. I still thought of him every day. And every night. Oh God the nights. Remembering every steamy California night alone in the cabin in the mountains in full Dolby surround sound and marvelous Imax imaging. Waking up sweating, phantom caresses still lingering on my skin. Even years down the road, with no contact, you could still affect me that way. Horrible, wonderful bastard.

Coming to X-Factor had been such a strain. Even as I joked with Guido and Jaime, I still wasn't sure what I was going to do. I was looking for apartments in the paper, alternatively hoping to find a nice one-bedroom single for just myself, a nice one bedroom for two. And occasionally just hoping the decision would be taken out of my hands; that there wouldn't be any apartments. Had no idea how I was going to deal with him again. After everything. After Malice, after all the death and blood and sweat and tears. I think there were at least a dozen times I was ready to get up and bolt from that room. Find a taxi, take the first plane I could get out of the county, disappear. Anything but see him again.

Then he walked into the room, cocky sway, knowing grin, glint in his eyes. It was like falling all over again. I was going to say hello. I was going to be professional about it. I had a whole speech ready about how we needed to start off on a new footing, how we'd been apart too long, how we needed to be friends. One look at him and we were in each others arms again like he'd just got back from working the range.

We talked, later. Incidental stuff, of course. The kiss had told us all the important stuff. I still loved him. He still loved me. We were still probably bad for each other. Neither of us cared.

He shifts on the bed next to me, still mostly asleep, but he knows I'm not curled up next to him like I was before. Alex isn't exactly a light sleeper, but he wakes up really quick once he gets going. I gently run my fingers along his lips, leaning down to whisper in his ear. "Everything's alright, baby. I'm still here. Go back to sleep."

His eyes open and for a second I'm lost in blue. "Can't sleep?" His voice is confident, almost cocky, and damned sexy, even half-slurred from sleep.

"I'm fine baby."

"Didn't say you weren't." He sits up, reaching out slightly. He leaves the decision up to me, like always. My 90's cowboy. Always ready to save the damsel in distress, always ready to be saved by the same damsel. I take the invitation, curling up into his side, head against his chest, listening to his heart beat. His fingers start weaving through my hair and I damn near start purring. "What were you thinking about?" he asks after a couple minutes.

"Nothing." I worry, sometimes, about how easy the lies are.

"Right. Three in the morning, and you're thinking about nothing."

"I'm thinking really hard about nothing," I counter, poking him in the ribs.

"Hey, none of that," he laughes, grabbing for my hands. We mock wrestle for a couple moments, before he finally wins, holding onto both of my hands, partially pinning me to the bed. We're both breathing heavily and not because of the exertion. His eyes travel south of my face and I suddenly realize I can feel the tank top I wore to bed pulled aside, revealing a breast and nipple.

"See something you like?" I want to play.

"I see a lot of things I like." He knows it, and he wants to, too.

"See something in particular?"

"Yep. One comfortable looking pillow."

"Bastard." I smile.

"Lover, I'm sorry, but I am tired." He actually is apologetic, too. And I know he's tired. He was up late the last two nights. And today he had to answer questions before a subcommittee.

"I know you are," I reassure him. "Lay back down and go back to sleep."

"You going to sleep, too?" Always looking out for me. It's annoying at times, but it's part of who he is. I accepted it when I accepted him. I can at least take comfort in the fact that he only does it because he loves me.

"I will in a bit."

"When you're done thinking about nothing?"

"Wiseass."

"So's the rest of me." There's that damned twinkle again. I laugh and cuff him on the arm.

"Go back to bed, Romeo."

We lay back down, me snuggled up to his side. He drops off quickly, a mark of just how exhausted he really is. For a little while longer, I stay up, watching him. Occasionally I'll run my fingers through his blonde hair. My blonde cowboy surfer. If only he wasn't a Summers.

I remember talking with Jean about it, once, asking her if Scott was like that. She told me he was worse, sometimes. I asked her how she could put up with it. She got really quiet for nearly a minute, just sitting there, staring into her iced tea. Finally, she told me how. "I love him. He loves me. The rest is details. Details are important, mind you. But they don't change the underlying reality." Words to live by and love by. She also gave me some others. "It's not easy loving a Summers, is it?"

He shifts a little beside me, curling closer to me, wrapping me a little tighter, a little more protectively. Even in sleep, he wants to protect me. He knows I'm not some damned shrinking violet, that I can take care of myself. That never seems to stop him wanting to protect me. Oh Alex, baby. I love you so much. And half the time. I hate you, as well. A thin line. I just wish I wasn't trying to do a high-wire act along it so often.


End file.
